


The Last Sentinel

by lynndyre



Category: Last Remnant, Magna Carta 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Fix-It, Multi, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:57:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/pseuds/lynndyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-game, in another world, everyone lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Sentinel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/gifts).



> In searching for a way to give you postgame happy, this crossover was the idea I had. And then Elgar took it over. :)

Elgar emerged from darkness into bright gloom, damp stone, and the pervasive smell of bugs. Ruins, one of the old sites. Probably the former resting place of a powerful Remnant, or the space would not have bent so readily to allow him through. He knelt, but the dusty floor showed only the marks of skittering insect feet. First had emerged elsewhere, if he'd returned to this plane at all.

_"I'm going back, of course. She's waiting for me."_

Elgar straightened, and brushed the dust from his fingertips, streaking his trousers with grey. First would be here. If anything, his devotion to the one who had bound him likely meant he had emerged closer to his goal. Grey walls pressed inwards at his indecision, pale and unreal through the film of his visor. Elgar removed it, and the stone chamber came into darker focus around him. Without a master, he was no longer a Sentinel, no longer a conqueror. He needed a different face to show the world. After a moment, he raised his hand again, and stripped the tie from his hair, weaving fingers through his braids to loosen them. The hair on that side of his head felt strange, fell kinked and disarranged against his face. But he would leave it long, too much of him already existed in echo of First.

He exited the ruins at dusk, wiping basilisk blood from his blade. From the visible stars and the lay of the land, the ruins were those of Robelia Castle. He had scavenged a traveller's cloak from one of the chests inside, only slightly chewed, and pulled it up over his wayward hair. Athlum was close, and so would First be.

\---

The last time Elgar had walked Athlum's markets, they had been deserted, only soldiers and the Reeden general holding the line. Now they were filled with people, mitra, yama, qsiti, and the air had a different energy. Mingled, charged with differing purposes, goals, curiousities, indifferences. But not with battle. Lack of battle, lack even of battle-readiness, was more foreign to him than any of the world's races.

A girl in a wide purple hat twirled sideways out of the way of a cart and rebounded off his chest, steadying herself with thin fingers hooked through the straps of his shirt. Elgar stilled, motionless. "Can you _believe_ some people? Road hog!!" The girl tilted her head up at him, quick and assessing. "Wow, you sort of look like this dude I know, only, like, way more femme? Only he was dead, except now he's completely not, or else I'd think you were, like, the ghost of his gay side. I should totally charge you for this, but I'm actually good for cash right now, and it's a massive crime to leave hair that nice all ratty. Plus today's, like, a good day! So not-dead-people equals presents, right?"

Body-warm glass was pressed into his palm, and the girl pushed away from him, back into the swell of the marketplace, hat vanishing between the dark brown and blue of two yama. A man who looked like Elgar had returned from the dead. First was here. Elgar's fingers tightened on the bottle, tilting the swirling oil inside until it caught the sun. He turned away from the storefronts, felt the compass of his body realign towards Athlum's palace.

\---

He found other faces he knew before he found First. In the courtyard beside the palace, Athlum's troops were training, and part of him uncoiled, relaxed by the sounds and play of steel against steel. There was a pause, the soldiers regrouped, and beyond them two of Athlum's generals started a demonstration. Battle formation? No, chaining. The first attack was an area spread, ice-elemental volley. That would be the little turquoise qsiti. Next was the orange yama, visible over the ranks and then stepping back, making way for the spin of a white fan- there. That was the princess. First's princess. First's Master.

And then there was First. Following his Master, as the final link in the chain, when he leapt he cleared the heads of the crowd, even the yama, and his sword flashed and spun in the sunlight. There was fierce joy in every line of his body. Elgar hung back in the shadows of the courtyard walls, and watched First dance to his princess-master's command.

Steel unsheathed behind him.

"You."

"General Rue." Regrettable but not unexpected, the sovani had been the most likely of Athlum's generals to notice his presence. They had waged spycraft against each other too often. The smallest sovani ever recorded, there was a time his army had been grateful she would never safely bear young, never create more six-limbed, unaging, undetectable spies.

All four of her daggers were drawn, but only her upper pair of arms held them at the ready. "Explain yourself."

"Clarify."

"Your cause is gone. Your master is dead. You enter Athlum in disguise. Why?" Lightning sparked along the upper pair of blades, and Elgar admired the level of forging. Voltaic crystals were not easily come by.

"First-" Her lower arms uncrossed, blades shifting in their grip. "Juto, then. He wished to return. I wished to understand."

Her ears flattened, bright gold eyes narrowed. "Understand what."

In his dreams, when Strass had ordered rest, there had been marshes marked by blue crystal, red canyons hacked and carved into monuments, caves of glowing light and bright colours standing out from the shadows. But when he and First collided, merged, tore all Remnants from the world, they had awoken in darkness, complete and absolute. If that realm were the world of Remnants, they had not been part of it.

Elgar tilted his head, watched her through the fall of his hair. "Why."

"Do you still seek battle?"

"Yes. That is what I am." Her blades sparked again, and he could nearly taste the charge. "But ...I no longer seek war. And I did not come to Athlum to fight."


End file.
